


The Mirror Lied

by Anjelle



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2361605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjelle/pseuds/Anjelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a disheartening point in his life, Ace encounters something interesting. While trying to escape the rain, he and his brother happen upon a small antique shop. When looking in a mirror, what does he see reflected back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Reflect

He felt regret.

Watching the grey sky disappear behind dark, drab clouds that threatened to release their accumulated water onto the streets, each wandering civilian falling prey to the cool liquid that was soon to come, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When his most prevalent sense was taken away, he could better feel the cool, musty breeze kiss his exposed skin, pushing the fabrics of his clothes against his person on his left and allowing it to sway, being pulled away on his right. There was moisture in the air—a drop in pressure signalling the oncoming storm.

What a rotten day.

Peering out onto the all but vacant streets, watching as pedestrians moved across the pavement hurriedly while gazing up at the blanketed world above, he took a few leisurely steps. Getting wet didn't really matter to him. If the clouds released and drenched his clothes he wouldn't care. Why should he? It was just a little water. Other than the depressing look of things, the weather didn't really bother him. In fact, it suited his mood—bleak, lifeless. He hadn't the energy to think differently.

Feet meeting cement, he walked along the cracked and busted sidewalk, turning onto a road that didn't lead home. He didn't feel like going back there just yet. The impending downpour would assure him his solitude during his aimless walk through town, or so he hoped. He needed time to himself—time to think.

Nobody was waiting for him, anyways.

While dragging his shoes against the rough surface, he registered the sounds around him: the screeching of tires as a talentless driver turned heavily onto another street; the panicked birds calling to each other and warning of the particularly nasty bit of weather that would soon befall them; the clatter of heels as a woman in business attire rushed over to her car, fumbling with her keys as she tried to beat nature.

He was tired of it all. Even when alone, he got no peace. All he wished was for a nice silence to befall him, to allow him a moment of self-loathing to face the regret the day brought on.

That grace never came. Instead he was met with a familiar set of footsteps creeping up behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was; the sound was familiar enough. Despite his earlier internal rant of longing for seclusion, the sound brought with it comfort.

A firm yet gentle touch pressed down against his shoulder. He gave in to the grip and slowed to a halt, feeling the appendage against his limb soften its hold as the one it belonged to came up beside him, revealing a nostalgic hairstyle and narrow, blue eyes.

"It's going to rain yoi," stated a rough, yet soft, voice.

He closed his eyes. "I know." He could feel the other's inquisitive stare but did nothing to explain himself. Detailing the day's events didn't sound very appealing and he knew the man wouldn't press him for answers, so leaving his wandering without reason was best. Bringing back memories of nigh an hour earlier wouldn't be a pleasant experience.

Opening his eyes again, he saw a look of understanding in that gaze—sympathy. Rather than treat him with fair, kind words of consolation, the taller man simply sighed, then looked on into the gray atmosphere. Vaguely he became aware of the light, cool drizzle that fell from the sky, leaving pinpricks of water on his exposed flesh. He didn't pay much attention until he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, herding him away.

"Come on, Ace. Let's find shelter before it starts pouring."

Absently he nodded, allowing the other to walk him in any direction he chose. He didn't care about getting wet but felt no need to go against the man. It didn't matter either way and, while his period of solitude ended, being beside someone so familiar was comfort enough. Perhaps instead of wallowing in regret he could wash it from his memories, if only temporarily.

With no awnings or ledges around to shield them from the steadily increasing rainfall, Ace was hurried over to the nearest open shop. Before entering, he peered up at the sign held above the entranceway that read  _Rip-off Antiques_. He furrowed his brow at the clearly suspicious name, noting that it wasn't a place he was previously acquainted with, before allowing himself to press on.

The other opened the door and the chime of a bell filled Ace's ears as they passed through it. Immediately his nostrils were bombarded with the smell of wood and something that felt aged. He couldn't place it, though. Then, as he allowed his other senses to catch up with his nose, he analyzed the area. It was a typical antique shop with all of the expected trinkets and useless junk, from porcelain dolls to old books and everything in between.

To his left, his blond companion moved towards the front of the store. Ace's gaze softened as he watched his retreating back, a little grateful for his habit of showing up whenever he was having a bad day. Marco was always like that, though—ever since their first encounter so many years ago. He knew when he was needed and stood by whenever someone dear to him was in rough shape. It seemed only natural to him and it was a trait Ace greatly admired.

Shifting his focus slightly, he studied the shopkeeper who Marco began to talk to. She was a woman with short, ebony hair curling into her face and equally dark irises. She carried herself with confidence and a knowing grin, a cigarette resting gently between two fingers as she conversed with her potential customer. Now he knew who dared to put 'rip-off' in the name of a shop.

Violent droplets attacked the large windows of the store, signalling that they would be trapped in there for a decent while. He didn't mind; there was nowhere he had to be and he was starting to adjust to the smell, so he decided to take a look at the merchandise to pass the time and, with any luck, get his mind off the day's events.

The room itself, while narrow, was long, able to support a vast array of stock from knickknacks to full furnishings and all other manner of objects in between. It housed a yellow-gold glow, dying its stock in slight sepia, adding to its presumed age. The first thing to catch his attention was a carved, wooden table. It was definitely dated, likely from the late 19th century, with clawfoot legs and a redundant amount of etching along its sides, creating intricate designs that he found unnecessary. Atop the table rested multiple displays of fine china sets, some patterned with silver roses and others with gold foliage. There were all types of cups and plates and utensils needed for tea, all of which he was uninterested in. But with nowhere to go and little else to do, he shrugged off his disregard for the items and looked them over thoroughly, hoping to pass the time.

Vaguely he heard Marco chatting with the woman shopkeeper and noted from his words that it would be a while before they could move on. He didn't care. It just meant that he had to explore the goods more thoroughly in order to waste time.

Moving on, Ace stepped over to the wall. Hanging from it were multitudes of aged clocks of all sorts, ticking in unison as their hands moved about their differently designed faces. Different fonts were used and most had their numbers displayed as roman numerals in glaring black ink. Most were wooden and had tacky designs that made them unfit for purchase, in Ace's humble opinion. He just wasn't the type for old-fashioned items, he supposed.

Below the clocks were shelves that held and array of dolls, all looking back at him with wide, glass eyes. He then realized why he felt like he was being watched; their stares were haunting. Really, they were the worst of all of the items he saw thus far. They were dressed in fine silks and lace, standing there with vacant, lifeless expressions that reminded him of dolled-up corpses—a seriously disturbing sight. He couldn't bear to look for too long, his unease growing with every passing second, and pulled himself away.

They still stared—watched him—with hollow eyes.

Continuing further into the back of the shop, he passed many things that couldn't keep his attention for longer than thirty seconds. He was quick to dismiss them and move onto the next until he came to a section filled with mirrors in the far corner, all angled to look directly at the viewer. Ace had to admit that having so many reflections staring back at him was almost as bad as the dolls, but he was able to bypass it by looking at the various designs. He wasn't one for mirrors—didn't care much for his appearance and wasn't vain enough to stare at himself for more than three seconds—but some of them were rather interesting and diverse enough that he figured he could look for at least a little while. Some were oval, with meticulous engravings drawn into mental frames. Others were round with swirling patterns carved into wood. Yet others were rectangular with gold trim dancing along the edges.

Taking a look at each one by one, he came to the second full-length model. Its frame was a dark, polished wood that, while not plain, was not nearly as extravagant as most others. It had its design and an old look to it but didn't hold as much detail as the rest. After taking a good, hard look at the outer edge, he faced his reflection. Dark, gray eyes stared back at him, holding the same uninterested look he did. The same freckles that dotted his cheeks were also sprawled against the man in the mirror, unchanged. But something seemed off—something that made him rub his eyes, wondering if his exhaustion was catching up to him.

It wore different clothes.

Doing a double take after wiping the tiredness from his eyes, studying with renewed interest, Ace saw that his vision hadn't been wrong—or still was, as the case might have been. Instead of wearing the slightly damp school uniform he did, his reflection sported casual attire—shorts and a simple t-shirt. The backpack slung over his shoulder was different from the one the other held. Yet, despite that, they moved in unison, completely mimicking one another as their eyes widened and mouths gaped. What he was seeing wasn't real. It couldn't be.

Further differences made themselves known as he gawked, speechless, at the one reflected back at him. It appeared that the Ace in the mirror had shorter hair, though the difference was so slight it was easy to overlook. He wouldn't have noticed at all, had he not been specifically looking for differences. Beneath the sleeve of the t-shirt he wore was a tattoo inked to his arm, ASCE with the 'S' crossed out, in bold, black lettering that wasn't present on his own bicep. And, even though their expressions were identical, his reflection's seemed to hold more interest whereas his was full of confusion.

Slowly both reached out, absently nearing to brush their fingers against the mirror's surface.

"Oi, Ace," called a familiar, low voice.

Immediately he drew back, watching as his reflection did the same, and turned his wide-eyed stare to the blond who gestured him over. Giving the mirror one last glance, he shook his head and complied, heading back to the front of the store, hurriedly to Marco's side. His mind was still there, though, staring at the incorrect appearance of the one reflected back at him.

"Shakky got us an umbrella," the blond stated, holding the object between them. Ace glanced at the grinning shopkeeper as she leant over the counter, smothering the end of her cigarette in an ash tray. "You ready to go?"

Ace looked behind his companion to the downpour outside, then once more to the section of mirrors in the back corner, before facing him and nodding. "Y-yeah…"

It was clear by his raised eyebrow that Marco took note of the hesitation and stutter in his voice but said nothing of it as he thanked the black-haired woman and placed his hand on Ace's back, pushing gently towards the door as he opened it. Once more the light ring of the bell resounded through the room as they passed but Ace didn't pay it much mind. His thoughts were still on the strange encounter he had with… himself.

As Marco opened the black umbrella, he looked down at the younger, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Find anything interesting yoi?"

The youth swallowed. "…I'm not sure."

* * *

Ace relined on the plush surface of his living room couch, allowing himself to sink into the soft, soothing fabric, his torso wrapped in a towel he retrieved from the hall closet. The umbrella wasn't large enough to fit both men under it so, while his head remained dry, much of his shoulders were chilled with rain. He didn't care, though. If it wasn't for Marco telling him to warm up while he raided the kitchen to make some hot tea, he wouldn't have noticed at all. His thoughts were still clouded with the image of something other than his reflection staring back at him in that strange little shop.

At some point he found Marco sitting on the couch across from his, two steaming cups resting on the table between them. He said nothing and instead continued staring blankly at the wall, paying the one in front of him little mind.

"Something wrong?" Marco asked, leaning forward to pick up his cup, holding it loosely by its handle.

Ace moved his eyes to watch the steam dance in front of Marco's face, distracting him from the words spoken. They shared a glace. It wasn't long until he broke eye contact and turned to face the table and the lone cup of tea still resting at its edge. Sighing, he ran an exasperated hand through his black waves, massaging his scalp as his fingers ran across his skin. "It's nothing. I'm just… tired." How else could he explain what he saw back at the shop?

It was clear from the look in his eyes that Marco didn't believe him for a second and suddenly he was reminded of his earlier depression—his regret. He'd almost forgotten about it. Perhaps it was because of the sight that met him at the mirror. Maybe he really  _was_  in need of rest. Either way, he was grateful for the topic to have fled his mind, if only for a while. It gave him time to breathe.

Marco closed his eyes and leaned into the back of the couch, looking a little tired himself. "You don't want to tell me yoi?" Silence was the only answer the blond needed. "Alright, but I'm here if you change your mind."

"Yeah, I know."

He was always there for him. When he was brought to that house for the first time, terrified of what would happen next, Marco was the first to reach out to him. He made him feel  _safe._ That blond who had fifteen years on him was the first person he considered family—his brother. Oyaji followed soon after, but with how often he was away on business, he was left in Marco's care as a child. They were close.

Satisfied with that reply, the blond finished the last of his tea and set about cleaning the area, moving his cup to the sink. Quickly he returned to the living room, giving the younger a soft smile as he ruffled his hair, massaging him in much the same way a brother or parent would, before moving to the entranceway to slip on his shoes. Ace followed him out of the room to see him out. He watched as the slightly tanned skin of the blond's hand wrapped around the handle of the umbrella, pulling it from its resting place against the wall.

Once more he smiled at his little brother. "Call me if you need anything."

Ace nodded. As Marco turned around and grasped the knob, the one behind him swallowed. "Thanks… for everything." He hadn't shown gratitude for all the things Marco did for him in a long time. It became almost second nature to him, so he often forgot.

Glancing over his shoulder with a smile, Marco headed out the door.

Once more Ace was alone. He dragged himself back into the living room and slumped back down on his seat, staring up at the ceiling absently. He had too much time to think.

* * *

It'd been a week. A whole week had been spent sulking about his most recent mistake and wondering about just what he saw at  _Rip-off Antiques._

Walking home from school just as he did that day, his mind once more started to wander. That time he paid no mind to the careless drivers or chirping birds. He didn't give much thought to the sky, either, because it was back to its usual, blue self, not one cloud in sight. Instead he was focused on trying to mentally unlock the truth of what happened back then. It'd been bothering him for far too long and he needed answers. Was it simply a result of his upset and unfocused mind or was it something more?

He was almost thankful for the strange encounter. While curiosity was getting the best of him, it was still nice to keep preoccupied with. He wasn't as distraught as he was that first day. In fact he felt relieved of his burden, if only sometimes.

Feet shuffling across the sidewalk, he came to a halt, looking up to face the tacky little antique shop he visited only a week before. After fighting with himself for so long, he made his decision, pushing the door open to hear that familiar metallic chime.

Shakky was standing there just as before, a knowing smile gracing her lips as she stood tall, removing a cigarette from her mouth and pressing it between her two fingers. She leant over the counter, head resting on her hand as she looked over her new customer.

"Welcome back."

 


	2. Cracked Image

"I had a feeling you'd be back," Shakky stated as she puffed out a breath of smoke, watching the teen that entered her shop as he glanced around the room.

Ace stepped further in, his eyes immediately locating the section of mirrors in the far corner before giving the woman his full attention. She had a glint of amusement in her eyes that made him feel even more uneasy. "Oh yeah?" he questioned, steadily approaching her.

She looked him over, settling her gaze on his before motioning to the back of the shop with her cigarette. "You're here for  _that_ —am I right?"

The youth followed her gesture to the mirror he saw one week before and swallowed nervously before nodding. "What can you tell me about it?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." The woman put out her cigarette before moving from behind the cash register, walking towards the object he was interested in. He followed close behind and the way Shakky glanced back told him that she knew he was wary of it. Her amusement only grew. "It's been here for little over a year."

"No one wanted it?"

"No one noticed," she corrected.

They stopped in front of the object and he mauled that thought over. How could someone not notice something so bizarre? He left his ponderings when he was met with an incorrect reflection, not unlike before. Again it stared back at him, an eerie similarity between the two, differences so subtle they went all but unnoticed.

He swallowed.

"Do you want it?"

"What?" He spun his head around to face the smoking shopkeeper, her lax form to his left.

"I'll let you have it for free, if you want."

Ace narrowed his eyes, an incredulous look on his face. There was no way a place called  _Rip-off Antiques_  would just give away its merchandise. That devious look Shakky sent him didn't go unnoticed, either. She was up to something.

Turning back to the mirror, he exhaled. What he found strange was that the shopkeeper's reflection was identical to reality even when his was not. She carried her cigarette in much the same way, wearing the same dark clothes. Why was that? "What's the catch?"

Her grin widened. "Your accusation shocks me." The woman's expression told otherwise. "I'm just interested in seeing how this plays out. So, what'll it be?"

The youth remained silent, brow furrowed, eyes locked on his reflection. Did he really want something as eerie as that in his house?

Closing his eyes, he turned away. "Keep it," he said, beginning his trek to the front of the shop. He didn't want to deal with whatever messed up events that thing would bring forth. Swallowing his curiosity, he left.

* * *

He didn't want the mirror. So, why was that same reflection there, staring back at him?

Distrust clear on his face, Ace eyed the new object found in his room before noticing a letter attached to it. As cautious as he was to approach the—what, cursed?—mirror, he got close enough to snatch the paper away and read it.

_'Consider it a gift.'_

The freckled youth groaned, running a tired hand through his hair as he slumped onto his bed. How the hell did she get it inside the house, anyways? Well, that was the least of his worries, now that he had that  _thing_  watching his every move. Maybe he could toss it in the trash—be free of whatever mysteries it held and move on with his life.

…But he  _did_  like mysteries…

Dropping to the mattress, Ace opted to stare at his blank, white ceiling. All of his uncertainty was starting to build up; he could feel the start of a headache coming along. He didn't have time for bullshit like that! The guy had enough to worry about _without_  some creepy not-mirror thing messing with him, thank you.

But…

And then he heard laughing— _his_  laughing.

Ace's breath hitched as the sound cut through the silence, mouth pulled into a taut line. He had to be hearing things. It wasn't real.

…Could he really keep saying that?

After a mental count to three he sat back up and looked at his reflection, eyes widening to see it wasn't in the same position as himself. His counterpart was seated cross-legged on the floor right in front of the mirror's surface, looking up at him with playful eyes. That wasn't happening, right? It had to be a dream, or… Who was he kidding? He couldn't keep lying to himself. Though, being mentally ill was still a possibility.

Swallowing, he finally noticed the room seated on the other side of the mirror. It was nothing liking his own, contrasting the theme of pale beige and white with a muted orange. The furniture was darker, more disorganized, and definitely unlike his own.

So it wasn't just the person who was different?

"This can't be real," he mumbled, half-dazed as his mind continued to assess the situation.

"Why not?"

Ace blinked, his focus returning to the doppelganger staring back at him with a boyish grin. Did his reflection just reply?

"It was kind of weird at first," his counterpart continued, "but when I saw you walk away my curiosity got the best of me." Well, he seemed to be taking it well, whatever 'it' was.

 _Wait._  "Walk away?"

"From the mirror," the other added.

So, when he closed his eyes and left the store the other day, his reflection stayed?

"I found it funny so I bought it."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want it," Ace stated with a sigh. He was talking to his reflection—a failure of a reflection, considering they were different. And how the hell could it talk? At some point he'd resigned himself to it. Either he was dreaming or life just got  _really_  unnecessarily complex.

* * *

School was a pain in the ass. That was why he skipped so frequently—or that was what he told everyone, anyways. Sometimes it was necessary to find a place to escape to, to be free of the burdensome social hierarchy, bastard teachers hounding him for work he wasn't inclined to do and pretentious brats that studied there. For Ace, that place was Thatch's bar. Sure it wasn't the most visually appealing place in the world—the smell of alcohol and cigarettes permeating the air was another negative—but he got free food, free drinks, and a chance to relax. Having Thatch there was always a plus, too.

"So what's wrong today? Get dumped?" the redhead teased, receiving a glare from his young sibling.

"Hardly," Ace snorted, downing the drink in front of him. "Do I need an excuse to visit my favourite big brother?"

Thatch raised an eyebrow, smiling mischievously. "I thought Marco was your favourite."

"Marco's too serious for his own good."

He laughed. "You have a point. That guy doesn't know the meaning of the word 'fun.'"

Ace snickered as he watched his brother dry glasses, understanding perfectly what the man was saying. That was what he liked about Thatch; it didn't matter what happened or whatever wrongs you committed, he would always be there to keep you company after a bad day. Although a known trickster and flirt, he was a great guy who always knew what to say to get your mind off of the bad things in life. Even then, when Ace was openly skipped class, he said nothing and continued on, allowing him a few free drinks and a plateful of food to ease his nerves.

Oyaji—or Edward Newgate, as he was more commonly known—was a big name in the corporate world. He owned several successful companies ranging in purpose from weapon manufacturing to electronics and blah, blah, blah—the point was that he was damn rich. Oyaji was a big deal. Despite the amount of media coverage he was bombarded with, the man had a part of his life that remained unknown to the world: his family. None of them were related by blood excluding Marco himself who was the heir to his fortune, at least on the surface. He was the only one the media knew about, though information was so scarce on him that he was freed from the harassment of reporters throughout the majority of his life.

Years after Marco's birth and the death of his wife, Newgate adopted Thatch and, even later still, Ace. There were others, too—people who hadn't been adopted yet remained as close to them as family. They were part of Oyaji's  _other_  secret, but that wasn't important.

"I don't mind if you ditch class like this," Thatch stated, "but remember to pass, alright? Marco will have my head if you don't graduate this year."

Ace chuckled and nodded, stuffing his face with his usual, insurmountable hunger beckoning him for sustenance. The best part of Thatch's bar was that it doubled as a restaurant during daylight hours, and  _damn_  could that man cook!

He'd chosen to escape reality that day, as usual. This time, though, he was running from a certain unexplainable object. After determining, alongside the other Ace, that they each had whole lives—worlds—on their sides of the mirror, he needed to take his mind off the matter, or maybe just needed time to think.

They hadn't talked long, only giving brief synopses of their current lives—the schools they went to, people they knew—but it was clear they lived under very different circumstances. Aside from not even knowing who Edward Newgate was, he hadn't the slightest idea who Marco and Thatch were, either. How could he ever live without them? Was he adopted by someone else, or had he lived his life on the streets? He couldn't imagine what it would have been like if Oyaji hadn't found him that day, took him in. Just the thought tied his stomach into knots.

* * *

_Dark skies littered the world above in the dead of night. Streetlights lined the road, half broken and unlit. It was raining, as it always did during that season, and cars skidded away. Ace was feeling smaller and weaker than ever as he dragged himself across the pavement. His feet felt like lead but he couldn't stop. His little brother was missing and nothing else mattered._

_His body didn't care about his conviction, though. It finally gave up, crumpling to a heap of limbs beneath one of the few working streetlights. Willing it to move did nothing. Clothes drenched with rainwater weighed him down, making it harder to pick himself up. But he had to. When he found that boy, he was going to kill him for making him worry._

_Tires screeched to a halt on the road beside him, followed by the opening of a door. Ace forced himself to turn his head, to face the long, black limo parked five feet away. Vision blurred, all he could make out was the towering figure of a man in a suit, his giant form intimidating as he approached. Without a word, the child felt himself be picked up and held close by a pair of strong, warm arms. All he could do was lay there, wondering who that man was and where he was taking him. But, despite his fear, he felt his lids close, giving way to exhaustion._

_Still, he wondered, would his little brother be okay if something happened to him?_

* * *

Ace's eyes narrowed and he halted his meal, contemplating his conversation with his double.

_"Hm? Who's that in the picture?"_

It worried him, what he said.

_"Nope, never seen him before. He a friend of yours or something?"_

Out of all of the people he hadn't known or recognized, how could Luffy be among them?

How could he not know his own brother?

* * *

Ace leaned back on the bench as he awaited the bus. He had mixed feelings about that day. The conversation with his other self was pretty amusing—though the guy was a little too moody for his liking—but only hours later his car decided to quit on him. He wasn't too pleased to find the damn thing unresponsive when he went to head to work. Well, could be worse, right? At least he had change for the bus. And, hey, taking it easy for once was pretty refreshing. Normally he'd be rushing from place to place to get things done. It gave him time to ponder the weird things his doppelganger told him—like who that Edward Newgate guy was. He'd heard the name before, or rather it sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. There were a few others he mentioned, too: Marco, Thatch, Lu—

He pulled himself from his thoughts as someone sat beside him, the bench creaking beneath their shared weight. Curiously he looked, met with matted black hair. The boy was small and scrawny and, for just an instance, he thought he was sitting next to a girl. Upon closer inspection, though, he could kick himself for thinking that.

Before he'd finished his analysis of the boy the stranger turned to him, revealing a scarred cheek and big eyes. He looked a little familiar, but from where…?

The picture.

Grin splitting his face, the recently identified teen looked him over. "Hey!"

Ace blinked.  _What an energetic greeting._ "Hey, kid. What's up?"

"Does this bus go to Newgate Academy?"

"Newgate—" His eyes widened. So  _that's_  where he heard that name! That was that fancy, rich school, right?  _But wait…_  "Aren't classes cancelled today?"

"They are?" The teen asked, his eyes staring inquisitively into Ace's. "Oops, shishishi."

Ace couldn't help but grin. So that was Luffy, huh? What an idiot.


End file.
